


A New World - Diverging Paths

by greysider



Series: A New World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Muggle Content, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Harry Potter Leaves the Wizarding World, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lemon, Muggle Life, Muggle Technology, Muggle-born Pride, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Original Character Death(s), Powerful Harry, Psychological Torture, Real Life, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violence, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions, Wizarding Wars, Wizarding World, Wizarding World Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greysider/pseuds/greysider
Summary: First arc of the story "A New World". Harry James Potter is secretly much smarter and attentive than you would have guessed. In the summer of 1993, he puts his plans in motion to escape the Magical World. As some retreat further and further into isolation and the past, others push the boundaries of possibility into the future. The world is so much bigger than anyone could imagine.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.

11:14 pm

July 22nd, 1993

Privet Drive

Surrey; England

Darkness. Confusion. Disorientation. Tiredness. Shock.

Harry Potter struggled down Magnolia street, all of his meager belongings packed into the trunk he was lugging along with him. It was a the large brown colored one, its contents rolling around and moving along all of the sides. With exhaustion threatening to take power he limped forwards, step by step, towards the end of the curve where the streets intersected. A series of memories were swirling around his head, all of them blurry and a mix of colors and emotions. He closed his eyes as the action replayed itself in chopped up fragments over and over again.

"Proud of your parents, are you?"

"They left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!"

And in one second, where all was chaos and he was walking down a tripwire to nowhere, he locked his mind into focus. Right, he thought, acting time was over. He straightened himself, stood up firmly, and began a brisk walk down the street, his suitcase now floating swiftly behind him in the air. His tears of sorrow, anger, and surprise had all faded away, leaving no trace of his state of mind just a minute prior. His eyes shown with purpose and confidence, their green hue seemingly clearing a visual path through the darkness of the late night.

The plan had gone off perfectly according to plan. There would be no trace of any suspicious activity in his actions. His accidental magic had manifested itself under pressure. Oh come on, who was he kidding. Accidental magic. Right. Like that simple concept existed. In any circumstance that wasn't what was important right now. What was important was that the scene had been created to give a perfectly reasonable explanation for what he was about to do. The facade he had carried around for the past two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would reinforce the assumptions.

He knew, of course, that Marge would say the things she had. It wasn't like she hadn't said those exact same phrases every single time she had come to visit. He had even prepared the drinks and the pouring of the alcohol, just a little something to help her spill her insults a bit more openly. Yet nobody would see it that way, and nobody would see he had anything to do it. Everybody knew that he was always under incredible pressure at the Dursley's. They all knew that he easily provoked and tended to react harshly to any seeming insult to himself, his family, or his friends.

The investigators, and there was no doubt they would come, would find exactly what he wanted them to. They would see an abusive muggle family threatening and insulting and verbally abusing a magical. They would see that same magical finally had had enough with the situation and their natural magic had responded to their rage. They would find that he had left the Dursley's house, with good cause, and that he had not come back. They would find nothing that was set up or abnormal, and in the end, neither would they care to do more than take a quick glance before making a quick conclusion.

Without a stop he turned onto Harving Street from Magnolia, the floating suitcase following him in the change of direction. A shaggy black dog a few streets away would see the boy move swiftly forwards, but figured out late at night wouldn't be the best time introduce himself. Harry would be at Hogwarts in about a month anyways, and he had a far better plan for how to meet his godson. Why them both apprehending the rat would be a great reunion event. Just like old times, James, he thought.

Harry continued to walk for quite a while, allowing his random thoughts and contemplations to flood his mind and occupy himself. Finally, perhaps it had been 15 minutes or so, he arrived outside a transport center. There were plenty of people around at this time at night. Some were businessmen in the black and blue suits. Some were street and construction workers leaving their jobs for home. Some others were clearly homeless, waiting around hoping to find someone generous enough to give away a pound or two. He stood silently on the curve, his arm extended, waiting for the familiar yellow car to come around. As expected, it did not disappoint. It arrived with the face of a middle aged black London man. He was wearing a brown coat, with a round hat over his head.

Harry bended down to address the man as he lowered the window of the taxi cab.

"Where to?"

"19 Gloucester Road," he replied, looking around to check the surroundings.

"That's in South Kensington, right," the driver questioned, reaching out to grab a map from the shotgun seat.

"Yes indeed it is," was all Harry said back.

"Well that's fine yeh. Get right on in."

Harry gave a somewhat convincing smile to the man. He had had a long night after all, there was no reason to be mean. The driver got out of the car to open the back for him, and Harry shoved his large trunk right on in. Moving as quickly as possible he got into the car and sat back, settling himself in. He stared out the window, mentally repeating the steps of the plan in his head. He had them memorized, for sure, but he needed to be in prime concentration right now. He could sleep and relax later, but the next few hours were critical.

For the entire taxi ride, he remained silent, not saying a word. The driver looked back at him numerous times, but Harry never made any sign that he recognized the attention.

The splendid row of magnificent white townhouses shining just slightly in the dark. Silently and without paying much attention, he took out two twenty pound notes from his black wallet and passed them to the driver. He tried to protest, after all the trip had only cost 17 pounds. Harry relented, taking back one of the bills but forcing the driver to take the other one. Slowly, he marched up to the tall white townhouse in front of him. He turned around and waited for the cab to drive away, which it dutifully did not a few seconds later. Without a stop, he grabbed a small black key from inside his left pocket an opened the door to the house, and walked in. Then, he promptly shut it closed and turned on the lights.

He took a moment to look around, making sure everything was in order. He went back to the door and put in a pin code to a small electronic device next to it. A small buzzing sounds seemed to resonate around the house, before it fell away into silence and Harry smiled contently.

Truthfully he had greatly overestimated the difficulty of the mission he had executed. It was done, he was safe, and he could now begin to plot the next phase. Depositing the brown trunk next to the couch, he moved downstairs to the basement. Carefully stripping himself of the poor man's clothes he had been forced to wear at the Dursleys, he removed everything from his baggy pockets. The filthy clothes he shoved into a square electric box that looked very much like a simple laundry drier. That theory would be proven wrong moments later when he flicked on a switch and the contents of the square box went up in controlled flames. Nope. It was an incinerator.

With a yawn, Harry headed upstairs to the master bedroom. Some pajamas were found in the closet, which he put on slowly. The two vials of liquid in his hand he placed down on the small wooden table next to the master double bed. He of course hoped he would not need them, but it was rare they were not eventually drained of the potion inside of them. Mentally, he ran through a checklist of all he had to do, finding no other activities listed on it.

Finally, he let out a deep breath and lay down on the massive white bed.

He had done it. He had left the magical world. With a sly smile, he relaxed on the satin covers of his bed, his eyes closing as he drifted into the realm of Morpheus. And as he fell and fell into the pitch blackness of sleep, that mantra remained there in his head, a beating reminder of his accomplishment.

I escaped . . . I escaped . . . I escaped . . .


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter wakes up and situates himself. A series of newspapers give some context to the global affairs and upcoming situations. The discovery that Harry has left forces Albus Dumbledore to take drastic action and compromise with a dangerous ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.

7:04 am

July 23nd, 1993

19 Gloucester Road

South Kensington; England

Blood. Pain. Fear.

A large man was standing over him. He had brown eyes, fierce, aggressive, with the pupils dilated with just a shade of fear. He had clean and carefully combed hair, although it seemed as reactive as pure hate right now. His mustache was broad and curled up at its sides. In his hands was a long, flaming whip. Except it wasn't. It was a standard Clark's brown belt. There was no fire on the belt, no. But there was on his skin, oh yes, every time it came down striking on his unprotected skin. He was there, cowering in the corner of the small space, the walls covered in filth and spiders.

"Worthless freak!" He yelled as the whip slashed down once again.

A flash of brown and then his arm ignited again, all the nerve senses combusting.

"Nothing but a worthless useless freak, aren't you boy!"

Again. Another strike. This time across his face. He doubled back further into the corner, even though there was no more space to go.

"Just a piece of filth and disgrace, just like your fucking parents aren't you."

Another strike. On his stomach. His hand reached down instinctively. The blood was pouring from all over his body. He couldn't see well. Shadows and red danced around his eyes.

"A fucking waste of space, that's what you are!"

This time on his leg. He was sure it was broken. All of his muscles screamed in pain. He yelled. He cried. He screamed. Nothing came of it. Please, he begged. Please! Please!

"A fucking freak like you doesn't deserve life! Worthless!"

Just let me die, he screamed. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. Just the pain. It wasn't worth it. It never had been. He lay there, his cuts oozing blood around him, his only wish wanting to be granted the sweet release of death. Oh it would be marvelous. Whatever to end the pain.

"Ha! Don't you get it, boy? Even your freakish world wants you to just fucking die!"

Green eyes shot open as the daylight from the morning entered into the bedroom. Realizing he had regained conscious thought, the solid unresponsive occlumency shields shut down his mind immediately.

Harry sat up on his bed, his face emotionless as his mind closed off all non-necessary thoughts. He reached silently across the bed to grab the two potion vials on the bedside table. Closing his eyes, he poured them each down his throat, barely shivering when the familiar icy cold taste hit the back of his mouth. He was used to it. Very used to it. He could, in fact, not remember a morning since August 1st, 1991, that he had not taken that same potion.

Nightmares, those he could control. His mastery of the early forms of occlumency allowed for such a thing. He rarely dreamed at all now some days. It was counterproductive to having a perfectly restful sleep, which he desperately needed considering how he woke up. Those, no those weren't nightmares. Those were memories. Those happened. They were real. Occlumency gave one the ability to organize their mind in such a way that they could remember every single memory and feeling they ever had. For Harry, this was the brutal definition of a double edged sword.

Every night it changed. Another memory. More appropriately named: Another torture session. And with occlumency, he could feel everything. He could feel it when the best slashed against his arm and drew blood from splitting his skin apart up the ligaments. He could feel it when the pain overclouded his consciousness and he fell into blackness as he saw the fiery whip descend upon him. He could feel it all.

Perhaps, if he worked hard enough, he could shut those memories out. He could store them away in some far lost compartment of his brain, never to be found again. But he wouldn't do that, no he never would.

It was those memories, and the pain he felt from them, that gave him the determination, the persistence, and the sheer force of will to take control of his life. They gave him the anger he needed to continue his plans to strike back and utterly obliterate his enemies, his betrayers. They served as a constant reminder of the reasons he had to continue, to push forwards. And he would never leave them behind.

He sat still for a minute or so, allowing the potions to run through his body. He felt their chill reach from the bottom of his spine to the crook of his neck, and back around. After he felt they had had sufficient time to take their effect, he slowly lowered his occlumency shields, allowing his mind to come back online properly.

Once done, he stood up from his bed, and went into the closet. As planned for, it was already stocked up with every choice of clothing he could possible need. For today, he needed simply some casual clothes. Quickly, he threw on a comfortable t-shirt of Manchester United and a pair of jeans. Opening up one of the drawers on the left hand side, he plopped his nice black watch onto his left wrist, strapping it tight enough so that it fit perfectly. A pair of white socks and some sports shoes later, and he was walking down the stairs.

The house was very nice indeed. Ok fine. Maybe nice was the wrong word. It was a 1.3-million-pound veritable mansion. It had three floors, a beautiful porch, a deep basement, one large kitchen, two master bedrooms, one guestroom, three bathrooms, and nearly a quarter of a million in furniture and other items. Yah. It was a mansion.

He was very lucky to have bought it when he had. The had officially gotten the deeds for the place on February 6th, 1992, at a time when real estate throughout the English lands had suffered a small withdrawal. As a result, the cost of 19 Gloucester had fallen by at least £250,000. Not that it had a severe impact on the decision. Harry would have purchased the property anyways; it wasn't really a question of money. It was just an added bonus. And of course he couldn't have known that in the week after he made the purchase that the real estate market would start climbing back upwards. A helpful goblin, however, well that was a different question entirely.

So he headed down the stairs, stretching his arms as he walked. A nice breakfast was already laid out on the dining table. There was a cup of tea, a few English muffins, and some breakfast sausages. A small healthy meal, well, fairly healthy. Dobby always knew exactly what he wanted for breakfast the second he woke up, talk about privilege. It was one of those wonderful benefits of the house elf-wizard bond. It provided mutual benefits to both species, a perfect contract of nature, one could call it. Now while one side didn't really have the choice of signing the contract, it was not as bad as some would put. One bushy haired buck tooth girl would probably claim it was a cruel form of slavery, but truthfully, she knew nothing of what cruelty and slavery actually meant.

"Thank you Dobby," he called out to the empty air, knowing the quirky house elf would hear his master's voice anywhere on the planet.

Sure enough, Dobby appeared right out of nothing on the other side of the dining room.

"Dobby is so glad that Master Harry approves! Dobby loves making good breakfast for Harry Potter sir." He exclaimed in not even one breath. He stood there, well maybe jumping was a better word, with his massive oval eyes staring reverently at Harry. With a small chuckle and a broad smile, Harry dismissed the overexcited elf and told him to go back to his next duty. Jeez! He swore that elf had gulped down England's total supply of caffeinated drinks on a regular basis.

A bit of cheer injected into his mood, Harry sat down to dig away at the first meal of the day. In a small flash, a pile of papers was dropped on the table right next to the food, curtesy of a house elf. It was bunch of newspapers, the ones that Harry all had a subscription to and Dobby had been brining to him every morning. So yes, Dobby had just apparated to seven places around the world in a matter of seconds to bring him his half a dozen daily newspapers. At the top of the pile was the Daily Prophet, the pictures all moving around on the age making it quite obvious. The prophet, as you should all know, was about 95% total rubbish and garbage. Yet, it was the primary daily newspaper of Magical Great Britain, with a readership of more than 13,000. No matter the credibility of the contents, it was still important to be up to date on the Ministry's position on magical affairs. The front page displayed a standard article, or to translate, something somebody would rather faint on command than read.

"Potion Cauldron sizes face new regulation by the Office of Magical Equipment Regulations" read the title article. Nothing important then, just some bureaucratic Ministry action. Percy would probably have been very interested though. Harry could imagine him telling all the other Wesley's to shut up as he skimmed through the article with a toothpick. His imagination hit a wall when he remembered the magical world did not know what a "toothpick" was. Ah, so well.

With that out of the way, Harry moved on to the actually useful papers. The Asian Sun Publication was reporting a significant rise in border skirmishes between the Magical Celestial Empire of China and the Tibetan Society of Magical Warlocks. This was nothing new, Apparently, a clash between partisans over travel rights led to the deaths of more than a dozen magicals. This was, sadly, nothing new or unexpected.

The Tibetan and Chinese magicals had warred against each other for centuries, leaving behind hundreds of thousands of deaths and ruined generations. Recently, the Chinese communist government had begun to relax their control and rules over the Celestial Empire, allowing it far greater range in engaging with their south-western enemies. While the Tibetan Society had but a meager percentage of the numbers and land of the Empire, they made up for their lack of numbers with magical power. They were generally acknowledged, with the exceptions of Magical Great Britain and a few others, as the most magically powerful group of wizards and witches per magical.

The French magical newspaper La Realite, or "The Truth" in English, spoke of the efforts of the new head of their Ministry's Law Enforcement Division, Alexandre Dumas, to reform operating practice for searching magical properties. Finally, in magical news, the American paper, simply named Magical Daily, ran some articles on new developments of techno-magic innovations in the arms industry.

On to muggle news, which was generally far more important to far more people. The New York Times was reporting a crash by a Chinese Northwest Airlines flight in Yinchuan, with 55 people killed. How sad. The Wall Street Journal had some interesting articles on turmoil and political violence in Russia. The Observer had a main article on the new healthcare initiative of the First Lady of the United States, Hillary Clinton.

One of the advantages of the occlumency powers that Harry had mastered was the ability to quickly absorb and then compartmentalize information to memory. In the 20 or so minutes it took Harry to casually eat through his small breakfast, he had read everything he felt he need to out of all the newspapers. With a relaxed composition, he finished his morning meal and prepared to get to work.

Calling out to give further directions to Dobby, Harry pulled a long grey overcoat from the front closet and threw it around his shoulders. Checking to ensure that the electronic device right next to the door was still functioning properly, he opened the door and walked out into the daylight of the morning. A smile curved upwards on his lips as he imagined the reactions of the magical world to his disappearance. No matter, they deserved any stress it would cause them and far more. He was not likely to forget his own pain any time soon. The nightmares helped to make sure he was focused on his chosen path. Now, on with the daily plans, he thought as left 19 Gloucester Road in the distance as he headed towards central London.

2:15 am

Headmaster's Chambers

Hogwarts Castle; Scotland

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore, and yes he did have three middle names thank you very much, woke up immediately distressed. Something had happened to Harry. The mental connection in his occlumency that tied him to the all of the magical scanners and wards on the boy had vibrated, and the promptly clouded behind an impenetrable mist. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. And what a terrible time it was for this to occur. With his superior mental powers and capabilities, he could be awake and energetic at any time of the day, but seriously!? Two in the morning! The fates must still be punishing hum then, he concluded.

He knew right away that this was not just a matter of resetting one of his monitoring devices or checking up at Privet Drive to fix something with the wards. No, the monitors had failed and were being masked by an unknown presence. This was very dangerous indeed. With the energy one would never have expected out of a man 112 years old, bolted up and out of his large Victorian style bed.

No, no, no, this could not be happening now! Not now! Not after everything he had done to ensure that everything moved along the proper path, the destined path, towards the future. What scared him the most was that the monitors were being masked. That could only mean a specific set of things. Number one, Harry Potter was not at Privet Drive under the care of the Dursleys. Number two, Harry Potter was in a location with significant warding power to repel the tendrils of the monitors seeking to escape said location. Number three, Harry Potter was actively drowning out the monitors. Fuck, he suddenly realized. Number four, Harry Potter new about the monitors, and he knew they were tied to him.

Ok this was not good. No, no, this was not good at all. First thing, first. Slippers. Specifically, the fluffy pink ones under the wooden bed. What? Dolores had good taste in some things. Now, with that out of the way, he trudged down the cold stairs with his large red woolen robe draped around him. Hustling down the stairs as fast as he could, he threw open the ornate wooden door separating his private chambers from the Headmaster's office and walked in.

On the scattered and filled shelves that adorned the cluttered office, Albus Dumbledore approached one small self to the right side of the desk. If you cannot see that shelf even though you know exactly where to look, don't be surprised. The corner of the office had been covered in Notice-Me-Not, invisibility, protective, and distraction wards keyed into the Headmaster. The shelf was there, free for all to see, yet no student or professor would ever be able to remember it being there. Extending his pointer finger, he opened the magical locks of the various devices and examined their structure. His worst suspicious were slowly being confirmed one by one.

There was nothing wrong with the devices. No magical contamination, blockage, structural deficiency, nope, none of that. Rather, the tendrils of magic that connected them to the monitors on Harry Potter were being blocked and squashed.

Shit, Dumbledore swore in his mind. His eyes still observing the devices, his hand stretched back towards the greater part of the office, and in no time at all the familiar feel of his powerful wand landed in his palm. With a simple flick, his red robe and fuzzy pink slippers morphed into resplendent sparkling blue robes and proper footwear. With one last look around his office, he gave a long sigh before apparating away.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

2:24 am

Privet Drive

Surrey; England

With a swirl of blue magic, Albus Dumbledore appeared in his magnificent style on the sidewalk of Privet Drive across from #4. With a serious expression on his face, a rare occurrence by the way, he strode forwards right into the street to cross into the house. A snarl showed on his old face for just a second as he realized he was not the first person on the scene. Rather, he was quite late.

Already, there were three or fourth Ministry obliviators moving up and down the street, confronting those muggles as they came out of their houses to see what the matter was. Well, the obliviators would take care of them, they weren't his business no his purpose in being here. He was here for the Dursley family. He already knew that Harry was not here, by now he was probably long done from the vicinity of the area.

The family in question was outside of their house in the small yard in front of it. A man in tight grey robes, an auror then, had his wand brandished in front of the Dursley family. The small boy, ah yes, Dudley his name was, was cowering behind Petunia, the lovely girl, in terrified horror. The Aurors were here already then. That wasn't good. No, that wasn't good at all. Harry must have used accidental magic then, he reasoned. If it was just the wards falling or the monitors being clouded, the Ministry would have had no notice. Accidental magic, however, well they would be all over that one.

From what he could see, there was only that one auror there and a few obliviators. With any luck, he could intervene in the situation and clear everything up before things got out of hand. The last thing he needed at this moment was the Ministry involving themselves. That would be catastrophic. Worst still, they would have knowledge on Harry's home life and therefore compromising information on him. No, no, that could not be allowed to happen. He had protected Harry from the cruel actions the Ministry would no doubt take for over a decade, and he would not see all that effort wasted now!

"I demand to know what is going on here!" he spoke imperiously as he walked across the road over the house where the man in the grey auror robes was. The auror, shocked by the unexpected presence, spun around on his feet, his wand raised and pointed right at him. Upon recognizing him, however, the auror's eyes opened wide and he immediately let down his wand, his breath easing slowly.

"Headmaster Dumbledore sir! I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you!" He stammered out as quickly as he could. Behind him, the Dursley family was still huddled around each other, terrified and unsure of what was going on.

Yet Dumbledore was not worried, no. For the first time this morning he felt a small relief. The auror was none other than Howard Gilchrist. A good boy. A faithful servant of the light. A muggleborn former Gryffindor of his back in the 70s.

With a smile that would charm any of his supporters, the old man wiped away any of Gilchrist's fears so that he now felt just a soothing presence of his former teacher. With a sudden remembrance, though, he jumped to inform his leader of the news.

"Sir," he blurted out, "Did you know Harry Potter lived here!"

Dumbledore's face was plastered with a deep frown. Not good, he feared.

"Yah I didn't believe it myself!" he continued, "But Alisa checked it over with them! You know she's an obliviators right? Anyway, she found they were actually telling the truth sir! The Boy-Who-Lived actually does live here! Sir you should know though his home life . . ."

Dumbledore raised his hand to silence the man. He didn't want nor need to hear any more. He mind was running circles around itself trying to plot his next move. Alisa? The obliviators, right. Alis . . . Alisa . . . Ah right! Alisa Brooksby! Ok that was ok. Only she had probably viewed memories from the Dursley's, so the other two or three obliviators were unimportant right now. So two Ministry officials knew. Crap. Ok whatever he did, he needed to take action immediately. He had perhaps a minute or two before everything was lost.

In the end, the decision was easy. What the world didn't know wouldn't hurt them. He was burdened with the terrible responsibility of taking all the harsh actions for the light side, but they would understand in the end. In the end, yes, when the magical world was perfected, they would all understand and accept his actions.

Unseen to any, Dumbledore waved his wand beneath his robes with his eyes starring right into Gilchrist's. Instantly, his eyes became clouded and foggy, and his expression changed into one of complacency and relaxation. Then Dumbledore, imbedding his words with his own magical power, spoke sternly to the smaller man.

"This was a standard case of accidental magic," he spoke, "The witch or wizard in question is underage and shall not rage the age of their first magical maturity for some time. There is no need for further investigations. Harry Potter does not and has never lived here."

A flicker of acceptance and understanding lit up in the man's brown eyes. He nodded, as if a student listening to an old teacher. He smiled warmly and thanked Dumbledore for his assistance. Then, he moved back to the obliviators, instructing them to finish their duties and then apparate out.

The Headmaster quietly moved over the where Brooksby was confronting a small muggle family that had woken up due to the loud noises. She turned around hastily, not realizing he had been there. Before she could even let out a gasp, he had flicked his wand again while staring intently into her eyes. Just like Gilchrist, her eyes lost their focus before coming back and remembering just what he wanted her to.

Dumbledore let out a long sigh. With one last look back at #4 Privet Drive, he turned around and dissaparated back into his Hogwarts Office. He had some floo calls to make. He needed to take proper action to ensure that this disaster would not be discovered by other sources. He resigned himself to probably not sleeping the next few days. It was no sacrifice for him. Things needed to be set straight first. For the greater good.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

7:50 am

Headmaster's Chambers

Hogwarts Castle; Scotland

Not all was lost yet. Harry was gone and all was now in the balance, yes, but the secrets had not been let loose. For the sake of the Light and of the Magical world, they would never.

For the past few hours, Dumbledore had reached out to all of his contacts in both the Ministry of Magic and all other parts of the magical world to assess the damage that had been done.

Luckily it seemed, everything was not lost. The information had been contained, for now. In the end, he could clean up all the leaks over and over again, but he needed to get to the root of the problem to fully solve this catastrophe. He needed to get Harry back.

What a disaster it would be, he imagined for a moment, if Harry didn't show up from school in September. But no, he wouldn't do that. Or would he? He couldn't leave it to chance.

Advantageously to him, he had a recording of Harry's wand's magical trace. He had used this for years to track and monitor the movements of the boy, and it would come very handy again right now.

He activated the device and watched in content as the familiar green light flickered around the small square shaped artifact. A buzzing sound developed from the inside and the cubs began to rotate around itself, searching for the trace.

Dumbledore's heart stopped cold when after minute the artifact stopped its activity. Where was the blue hue and the indication of the location? Why hadn't it be able to find it? That was impossible, it had full access to all magical traces in Great Britain . . . unless Harry Potter wasn't in Great Britain. Oh my, he thought. Without a second thought, he ran over to the floo and went straight towards the Ministry.

8:00 am

Ministry of Magic of Great Britain

London; England

The Department of Magical Transportation was run by Roger Turpin, a neutral, and a competent administrator. It was they who held control over the immigration and emigration records. However, as with everything in the British Ministry, there were backdoors to getting anything. His "backdoor" for this was a young man by the name of Ronald Bryant, a staff member who was very sympathetic to Dumbledore and the Light. He had been a Gryffindor student who graduated in 79'. A good boy, yes.

Bryant had led him right to the rooms where the emigration records were kept. Dumbledore had taken them out and proceeded to search for Harry Potter's name. Just in case he had left the country, Dumbledore would rather safe than sorry.

Down the registry his eyes went, scanning the names upon names. His blue eyes were twinkling at their full potential, so much so that Bryant's had to close his eyes from the brightness. Ok that was an exaggeration. Still though, Dumbledore ran his hand down next the names, reading them mentally at an incredibly fast paste, looking for that one name.

Roman Byrd

Dianne Walts

Marvin Sarratt

Annalise Pinter

Virginia Lopez

Jaret Mallory

Louis McDougal

Harry Potter

Joshua Gos . . .

Wait! There it was! Harry Potter! Ha, he shouted mentally! His elation peaked and his eyes shut off their twinkling for a moment. Oh what a wonderful day! What a wonderful day! So he had left Britain. Ok, that was good to know. Now, where had he gone. Dumbledore ran his finger across the parchment to find the destination registered with Harry's magical signature . . . and it was France. Damn.

Why France of all places!? Why? Why? Why? Ok, fine, it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. But why France. He would rather have had to talk to outright enemies like Hossain, Kirmani, even Booth than a supposed ally like Dumas. That man would be the death of him. He might have a thousand assassins after his head but it would be Dumas and his scheming that would kill him far before a killing curse got within a thousand yards of him!

Alexandre Nathan Dumas was the Directeur du Department de Sécurité Magique, or Director of the Department of Magical Security. Unlike Magical Great Britain, the French magical laws regarding immigration and trans-national travel were far more heavily regulated. Unlike in Britain with anyone with enough influence or money could bribe the right staffer to look into the magical travel logs, this was not the case in France. As a foreign agent, he would have to have special permission from Dumas himself to access the records. In all honesty, and with Dumas' record, that permission was unlikely to be granted.

Why couldn't he just do the same thing as in Britain and just use some young and weaker French staffer to gain access? A very good reason. The logs and records were magically locked by Dumas' hand. Without his permission, a foreign national would not be able to see the records. The magic that bounded the records also bound the employees, so they could literally not give him any information regarding them.

Was there one ray of good news, yes. France's travel logs, when unlocked by Dumas, could pinpoint exactly where a magical person was at any point. In another difference from the British system, the French records tracked the magical signature of a magical, not their wand signature. Therefore, this method would be foolproof. He would be able to find out exactly where Harry was, and then go and pick him up.

What did all of this mean? He would have to make a surprise visit to France to meet personally with Dumas. With a few polite words, he left Roger Turpin in his office and strolled out with a renewed sense of purpose and drive. Sure, there was almost no chance of him being able to access France's immigration logs, but he was sure he could bargain for Dumas to look into the matter personally. He knew Dumas, and he knew his character. He would definitely look into the matter, considering it was not a serious concern for France's magical security.

The thing he worried about though, was how high the cost for that favor could be. Dumas, unlike many other foreign officials of his level, was not afraid to bargain with him, Albus Dumbledore. Worse, he was not afraid to bargain high and make normally outrageous demands. But damn, he needed Harry back! And for that, he needed to know exactly where he was!

He made a quick stop by the Department of International Magical Cooperation and penned a letter off to the French ministry requesting a meeting with Dumas in precisely 15 minutes He knew that Dumas would not deny. Every time they met was because he had to come with a favor to ask for, and every time Dumas had a list full of favors he wanted in return. Arhhh. But that was the nature of the Great Game.

Without wasting a single second, he strode forwards into the center of the Ministry Atrium and apparated right past the wards to the French ministry. He allowed himself the flicker of a smile with a thought of how impressed magicals always were when he did that supposedly impossible act.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

9:15 am

French Ministry of Magic

St. Germaine-en-Laye; France

In a split second of thought, he appeared in the entrance hall of the French Governement de Magique. The building was concealed from the muggles yes, but wasn't underground like the British Ministry. This one was instead a collection of large stone and marble buildings outside north of the French city of Orleans. Appropriately named, the land on which the magical government was situated was titled Les Champs d'Orleans.

Taking out his golden pocket watch and setting a timer for 12 minutes time, he settled down on one of chairs as he observed the random people who walked by. The efficiency and order of the French magical government was something to be admired for many, he pondered, but it was not to be for one British headmaster. He saw the entire institution as an overly muggle construction of magical governance. Such ideas such as government reviews, affirmative action, and equal opportunity was, as he would call it, a mugglefication of what proper magical governance should be.

Sure the muggleborns were critically important the magical world, but he was firmly turned off by these ridiculous attempts by magical government officials to take clues from their system of government. They were all based off misguided attempts at equality, progress, and reform. Those muggles, they would never understand, would they. There could be no equality in governance. The old and powerful were the ones who rightfully had power and ownership over the magical world. All the muggleborns would be equal under that order, yes, and that was enough with those silly ideas.

A small whistling sound from the inside of his velvety covered pocket showed that the watch had hit 12 minutes. How time went by so quickly when he went off on his mental tangents. With a charming smile on his face and his usual twinkling eyes, he moved on through the various department buildings until he reached a large rectangular one with the words Department de Sécurité Magique in large black lettering on the front. It took him a few minutes to find the director's office, what with the long corridors and all.

With as a clam expression as he could muster, he greeted Alexandre's assistance, Morgane he thought her name was. Declining a cup of tea, knowing accepting it would just be undermining his own position, no matter how frivolous, he was shown into the Director's office.

Inside, sitting as his desk and looking through the array of papers and files on his desk, was Alexandre Dumas. He was a man in his late 50s, well combed brown hair, above average height, a small mustache, and dressed in standard French governmental clothing. The style was, consistently disturbing to Albus, far closer to the existing muggle business styles than the British magical one. It was a dark blue color in a tight suit and black formal pants. It was said that the style was just another decision made by the French ministry to "modernize" the government and make it more formal and professional looking. Albus would save his own thoughts on the matter for later, they did not matter now in any ways.

Taking his time as he usually did, Dumas rose out of his share, straightened his suit, and made his way over to the front where he shook hands with Dumbledore.

"Why Mr. Dumbledore, what an honor to see you again. How may I be of assistance?"

Dumbledore could already feel a migraine coming on. Alexandre's tone of submission to him was goading, secretive, luring. It made their "conversations" incredibly difficult and frustrating. Whatever it was he was saying, Dumas was always playing with him in some way, sometimes on multiple levels. It annoyed the heck out of him. Of course he loved the reverence and loyalty of his followers, but when Dumas did it, and he knew that it was fake and goading, it just ticked him right off.

"May I offer you a brandy? I remember you enjoying one the last time."

Dumbledore shook his head right away. No. No alcohol with Alexandre. That was a story for another time.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time to spare at the moment Mr. Dumas,"

\- Oh. No more 'Alexandre'. That's too bad. I thought we were on a first term basis."

Dumbledore let off a mental groan.

"I'll be quick. I need access to the Magical Immigration Records."

Dumas continued to flash his charming smile at him. Damn that man was worse than Lockhart!

"I'm afraid that simply won't be possible Albus," he said, all the while smiling broadly, "You know I would already almost never let a foreigner access those records for private purposes, let alone you my friend."

"What if I told you I had a formal request from the British Ministry for access?"

Alexandre stayed there a moment, his lips still wide open. Oh he knew the game they were playing, they both did.

"And do you?"

Damn.

"No, but I can acquire one if I so need to."

Now Dumas's smile was almost so wide it represented the Grinch's.

"No, Albus, I don't believe you could. You and I both know if you wanted one you would have saved us both the time and just gotten it earlier. And we also both know you could get one of those requests by penning a letter to your Ministry in a single sentence."

That was spot on. Of course, he couldn't actually go to get the formal request. Doing so would alert the entirety of the Ministry to the disappearance of Harry Potter, and that would just blow up everything then and there.

"I would, however, have the time to go and visit the records later today if you want me to check for a certain name."

Ok, that was surprising. In all honesty, he was not counting on Dumas agreeing to help him at all. Again, though, perhaps that would have been easier. Now he had to put his own cards on the table.

"Give me a number."

\- Not gold Albus.

\- Give me another option.

\- Tariff reduction?

\- You know even I couldn't push that through the Wizengamot Dumas.

\- True true.

Dumas paused for a second. Then he spoke:

"Persia."

Damn. Double damn. Triple damn. A hundred and infinity damns. This was the worst.

"The export restrictions," he replied calmly, even though he knew that Dumas could see through him like a thin piece of parchment.

"Exactly," he replied evenly. A smile still caressing that oh so punchable face of his.

The problem was, yes, he could go forwards with what Dumas wanted. It wouldn't be that much work, but it would translate into full days of anticipated crisis management later. It was something he didn't want to have to sacrifice for this request, but he would have to. He knew Harry Potter was in France, and he needed to know where he was to take him back and restore his own personal stability.

"Fine. I will go ahead with that."

\- And what is that name you care so much about Albus?

\- How about a vow first?

\- Are you really going to insist on that?

\- You can never be too safe, you should know that better than anyone Dumas.

\- Ahh, I guess I should. Well here I go."

With his smile gone for a second, Dumas took out his wand and put it on his heart.

"I, Alexandre Nathan Dumas, do swear to keep confidential the following name provided to me by Albus Dumbledore for the following request I will fulfill for him."

There was a small flash a light between his wand and his upper chest area, and then the light left just as quickly as it came. Stashing it back into the wand holsters every French security agent worse on the left side of their pants, Dumas turned to face back towards Dumbledore again.

"There. Happy?

\- Harry James Potter."

Dumas's smile was back in full force and his eyes shown with interest. Oh, Dumbledore hated that look in his eyes.

"Harry Potter you say?

\- Yes. How soon can you let me know?

\- Oh, I'm not sure. Maybe by this evening?

\- Afternoon.

\- Sure, I'll send you a letter.

\- Perfect."

With that Dumbledore gave a small incline to Dumas and turned on his heels out of the office. He strode past Morgane and out of this security complex. Morgane, not sure as to while Dumbledore had left in such a rush, went to go close the doors to the Director's office. He would not want to be disturbed. Just as she moved to close them, she got a small peek into the room.

There was Alexandre Dumas, reclining back on his office chair, a wide grin on his face and a curious look in his eyes. Then, in a split second, he jumped off his chair and charged out of the room.

"Where are you going Mr. Director?" she yelled after him in French.

"The records department!" He shouted back, already hallway out his assistant's room.

After all, Alexandre Dumas was a man who prided himself for being on top of everything. If Harry Potter truly was inside France, well then, he wanted to know immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Hello again!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the action and drama in this chapter. You're introduced to Alexandre Dumas, who I will warn is going to be important throughout the rest of the story as a secondary character.
> 
> You will notice the "Chapter Summary" part that has been added at the top. This will be standard for all following chapters. It's just a two or three sentence summary of what the chapter's content is going to be. You can choose to read it or not read it.
> 
> Overall, I find that I prefer my chapters to be within the length of more than 5k words and less than 10k. I feel like I anything less is too short and doesn't give the reader a good sense of the time and the story development. Contrastingly, anything more is just too long and the reader gets very bored. Let me know if you agree with that.
> 
> There is a reason by the way that some characters use the term mundane and some use the term muggles. I would like to state that in my opinion, the term "muggle" is racist and demeaning. It was created by pureblood supremacists, so I found it horrifying that Harry Potter characters in J.K. Rowling's books regularly used the term while claiming to love muggles.
> 
> Never mind that. Again, if you have any questions, feel free to ask away. Thanks for viewing, favoring, following, and reviewing. This has probably been said hundreds of times by authors but it truly does inspire us to write more.
> 
> See you next time,
> 
> Greysider


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter meets with his allies to finalize his plans to abandon Magical Great Britain. Details are revealed about Harry and his mental state. Why does it seem as though Harry is in France?
> 
> Important Information:
> 
> 1 Galleon = $381 or 295.5£
> 
> 1 Sickle = $22.4 or 17.3£
> 
> 1 Knut = $0.75 or 0.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.

8:55 am

July 23nd, 1993

Kensington Pubic Park

South Kensington; England

The second ticked by one by one. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. Ok now it was 8:56.

Harry took his eyes off of the professional black watch on his left wrist. Trying to focus on anything to distract himself he looked out in the distance to see if anything caught his attention. It was a public park in the middle of London, there should be plenty of things to do so.

There were young people, boys and girl, biking around the paths. There were people his age hanging out. There were adults going on their morning run's through the green space. There were families going out for a calming stroll. There were older people, sitting on the benches and admiring their grandchildren play or relax in the beautiful area.

Truthfully, he should be doing the same. Relaxing. It was a nice day, it was 28 degrees Celsius, a perfectly warm weather. There was just a slight breeze in the air, nothing too chilly though. The sun was already high in the sky, shining its marvelous light on all those beneath it.

His eyes flicked back to the watch. Damn. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. It had only been half a minute. Double damn. He shouldn't be this stress. He seriously shouldn't have. He had dealt with the little creatures before, numerous times.

Taking several deep breaths, he closed his eyes. Behind the door of his eyelids, he focused his occlumency on ordering his mind. Immediately, the watch, and any thoughts of it, were wrapped in a cloak of invisibility and shunted to the furthest corner of his mind. It was a weird state of thought, to be honest. To focus on something, and yet at the same time be completely unaware you were actively thinking about it. Welcome to just one of the many complexities of occlumency and its great mysteries. He doubted anyone would be able to ever fully document just exactly how it worked. Well, that was magic. And life, he supposed. Some things just didn't have answers.

Occlumency put his mind under wraps and allowed him to order his thoughts to not get distracted and overrun with fear, anxiety, or uncertainty. The deep seated problems that plagued him, though, he could not outright ignore. Harry was a smart boy. A boy who believed in pragmatism and self-reflection.

Inside, Harry was very afraid. He had always been. He most likely always would be. One did not survive the life he had so far experienced without serious emotional consequences. Even now, his heart would race when in small places. If his occlumency did not hold up, he would cry out in the middle of the night and wrap his arms around his body to sooth himself from the invisible pain he imagined.

In public, there was nobody would ever be able to come close to imagining the true pain of the "Boy-Who-Lived". Just like occlumency, his public life was a cover. A plastic wrapping, you could imagine, over his actual self. The confident poses, the intelligence he showed, the blank face. They were all covers. Covers over a highly fearful and distressed 13-year-old boy. In truth, he was probably leagues out of his wits with everything that was going on around him.

Last summer, he had consulted with a physiatrist, Dr. Warren Perr. Perr was a good friend on his from his childhood, but he would not delve too deeply into that part of history now. Suffice it to say, Harry had gotten back in touch with Perr after not being in contact with the 38-year-old man since before he had received his Hogwarts letter.

He had asked the doctor to do a full psychiatric evaluation of him. Harry had noticed over time that in certain situations, with various circumstances, he would become erratic. He would jump to conclusions, act oddly in private, and do other things that he realized were definitely not normal. Any stupid magical would ignore the potential ramifications of this and most likely drum it up to his "Boy-Who-Lived superpowers". What bullshit.

Harry had become seriously concerned that he might have an emotional disorder. It wouldn't be surprising to him, to be honest. With the way the first 10 years of his life had passed, he would be more surprised if he didn't. Nevertheless, he was afraid. Last year he had not yet fully escaped from his desire to simply be "normal". A mental and/or emotional disorder was definitely not "normal".

When Perr had at first refused to do so, Harry assumed he didn't want to emotionally hurt the young boy with the expected results. Harry was going to find out one way or another. He threatened the doctor that unless he agreed, he was going to visit a significantly shadier medical establishment to do it for him anyways. Unwilling to see his old acquaintance do anything of the sort, Perr finally relented and agreed to do the examination at his own house.

And so Harry had gone over in the late evening, and Perr had sat him down in his small office room to begin. Perr's young wife had died of AIDS five years ago, and he hadn't had any children, so Perr didn't have anyone else in the house with them.

The entire evaluation had lasted a couple hours. It had consisted of hundreds of questions asked at a high pace. Questions about his thoughts, his opinions, his perceptions of things. They had played word games in which Perr tested his choices of connotations and reactions. They had measured Harry's heart rate while doing many of these.

For the entire evaluation, Harry had been forced to not use his early occlumency powers. Now that had been difficult. When Perr had gotten to asking him about childhood memories, the questions had become much more probing and hard to answer. He had been tempted several times to use his occlumency powers but he knew it would then ruin the entire evaluation.

In the end, Perr had promised to invite him back over when he had finished his analysis of the evaluation in a few days. Waiting for three days at the Dursley's house, Harry had wallowed in anxiousness. He already knew what the results would be.

The reflection he had done on his own activates and thoughts for the past few months had already told him everything he needed to know. He hadn't wanted to believed his own conclusions, so he used Perr to try to prove himself wrong. He must've been, he had thought. He was no phycologist, so what would he have known anyways!

Apparently quite a lot.

Perr has called him back to his house later that week to give him the results of the evaluation. He had showed him into the office and given him the three-page paper that summarized the medical prognosis. Perr had leaned back in his chair, uncertain of the reaction of his old friend.

Harry, for his sake, had showed absolutely no expression at all when he read through the findings. He was, according to the medical data, mentally unstable. Not horrifically so, but enough to significantly scare him.

Of course, he had wiped Perr's mind of the results. Instead, all he would remember was that he had hung out with Harry and they had had a good time going over old memories. Perr was a true friend, yes, but not necessarily a loyal one.

As a medical professional, it would have been his duty to inform the proper authorities about the evaluation. It was highly irresponsible and potential illegal to allow a mentally unstable person to just go off on their business.

Harry would never know if Perr would have gone to the authorities or not, but it was not a possibility he could allow. It was better to be proactive and shut things down quickly before they leapt out of hand.

So it had been confirmed. Fully confirmed. He could not deny it now. He had always known or suspected it to be true, but actually having it made certain was a completely different thing.

Walking around knowing that you were mentally unhinged, unstable, crazy . . . That was painful. Physical pain he had experienced. Emotional pain and mental pain, yes he had experienced both of those. Recognizing that permanent damage that had been done to him, it was just . . . harsh.

The physical pain and abuse had been easy to heal. Magical potions, a good diet, and the general cellular regeneration by one's magical core all made physical injuries very easy to cure.

Magic was incredible when harnessed to its full potential, but there were limits. He could take potions to dampen the mental trauma and the emotional suffering. He could use his occlumency to near perfectly order his mind and thoughts.

Yet, all of these were just covers. Sheets of plastic that were laid over a bleeding body to cover up the wounds. Perhaps none on the outside would ever see the truth, but Harry would always be able to feel it. None of these covers could ever possibly change the nature of his soul, and there inlay the problem.

And so over the past year, his instability had plagued him night and day. He had driven forwards in his occlumency training, striving to find any solution to his abnormality. In his life, Harry needed to be constantly focused, aware, and well ordered. Between the plots to murder him, the attempts to manipulate him, and the necessity of organizing and managing all of his life and financial affairs, it was critical. In this context, mental instability was very dangerous, life threatening even.

Yet, even as he locked down his mind overnight, as he perfectly schooled his expressions and reactions all day, they were still just a cover. The bubbling molten lava of potential insanity inside of him threatened to burst through every day, and sometimes he could not stop it.

At the root of this was that at heart, Harry was afraid. Afraid for his life. There was no other way of putting it.

Bringing himself back into the moment, Harry took a moment to really look out into the park.

Where was he precisely? He was just three blocks down from Gloucester Road in a small green public park that spanned the area of several house floors. If he was to hazard a quick guess, he would approximate there were anywhere between 80 and 100 people in it at the moment. Some passed by rather fast, engrossed in their usual activities. Others seemed to have stayed therefore hours and seemed like they might never leave.

He observed a family sitting around a tree. Two young girls, age 7 to 10. A mother, maybe in her 30s. Two grandparents, definitely in their 70s at least, older perhaps. They were having a picnic, sitting on a nice carpet that they had lay on the ground.

For him, though, this was not time for usual activities or calm relaxation. This was the final step of a plan he had put in place last year to disappear.

Right now, Dumbledore would believe he was somewhere in France. He would most likely be running around trying to muster enough support and aid to conduct a worldwide witch-hunt for him. After all, he was the key to the old man's plans. Without him, the plans fell apart. And when Albus Dumbledore's great plan fell apart, well, so would he.

He had carefully hidden his intentions and plans for all of the past year, making sure of complete secrecy from those who had any part in it. Nobody but those who were critically important knew anything at all. In a world of magic, treachery, and betrayal, secrecy was king.

Aware of the movements of every individual and object, he spotted the black suited man approaching his bench from 20 years away. He was off to his left, just entering the park with a small briefcase. He had a terse smile on his face, one that was way too obviously fake.

He sneaked a small peak at the watch. It was only 8:59. His contact was supposed to arrive at 9. He felt just a little bit disappointing. Sure, he had been stressed out waiting for the creature for more than 10 minutes, but he should have been nothing if not exact in everything it did.

Walking briskly through the park lanes, the man pretended to be distracted for a moment, before catching sight of Harry. With another smile that was just too obviously fake to be real, he turned and walked over to him, before plopping himself down on the bench right next to him.

Looking straight at him, his teeth appearing to be quite pointed and sharp, he placed the briefcase on the bench between them before running his unusually long finger over the top length of it.

Suddenly, Harry could detect the all too familiar feeling of wards rising around him. Reaching out with his magical powers to identify the content, he carefully searched through all of them. Attention distracting, Silence, Notice-Me-Not, Sight Cloaking, everything needed to hold a private discussion in an all too public place.

Even though neither of them had said a thing, a sudden shot of apprehension ran up Harry's spine, cooling him to the bone. How could he not be nervous, though? He was unarmed, completely defenseless. If the worst came, he would be totally unable to defend himself. He would be helpless. And yet, it was what it was. There was no other option.

Dealing with the goblins was always dangerous.

Yes, you heard him properly. The goblins, yes. The man who had just sat down next to him, if you would like to know, was a goblin accountant who had ingested polyguiced potion to look like a mundane's typical businessman.

Allowing his occlumency shields to wrap around his mind once more, he squashed down any feelings on his lack of confidence or fear that lurked within the debts of his thoughts.

He had dealt with the goblins before, many times. He had even dealt with this specific goblin before, and yet it never made the experience more relaxing. It seemed like every meeting he walked into with them his life had been strung out by a cord with the goblins holding a large sword over it. Such was the nature of economics in Magical Great Britain.

"Well, were there any problems with the plan?" the goblin asked pointedly.

Continuing to stare straight out into the park and looking in the general direction of a five-member family walking around, he replied with the minimal amount of expression as humanly possible.

"No, no problems, Argott. Everything went perfectly. Neither the aurors or Albus Dumbledore will find the truth."

"Good, good," Argott the goblin said as he relaxed his position somewhat to lean back on the bench.

Both of them staring out into space, Argott brought his long fingers together in his hands, a goblin habit that no potion would ever be able to stop.

"Chairman Ragnok has agreed to the terms you replied with last time," he commented.

"Did he really?" Harry replied, not at all surprised and showing so in his lack of speech change.

"Yes he did indeed. He is prepared to sign on the deal if you are as well."

"Very well. I am prepared to get this matter over with.

\- So is the Goblin Nation, Mr. Potter. The sooner we finalize the deal the better it will be for all of us.

\- True. I assume you have brought the documents with you?"

With the standard goblin grin that promised either riches or a painful death, Argott placed the black briefcase on his lap and proceeded to open it up, showing a variety of parchments neatly organized in the inside.

With his long pointy finger, he withdrew a stack of parchment and placed it on a metal plate before handing it over to Harry.

With his attention focusing now on the parchment in front of him, Harry began to read through the deal meticulously. All who did business with the Goblin Nation knew to be wary of the deceptions that the creatures might play. The goblins were programmed to seek out wealth and death like they were children hunting for sugar and chocolate.

Those that did not pay sufficient attention to the deals they signed with the goblins would often find very nasty surprises. Surprises that might involve being cheated out of your inheritance, cheated out of your paycheck, having your family stolen or put into forced labor, ending up with centuries of never ending debt, becoming a magical slave, and signing your life away to a goblin overseer. In conclusion, no good results.

Keeping this in the very back of his mind, Harry kept his eyes glued on the contract parchment making sure there were no abnormalities or odd terms.

Bilateral Agreement Contract

Participants:

Harry James Potter, Heir Apparent to the House of Potter

Lord Ragnok, Chairman of the Gringotts Clan Bank

Upon the mutual signature of this contract . . .

Nobility:

Lord Ragnok will agree to sign off on the ascension of Harry James Potter, Heir Apparent to the House of Potter, to the Lordship of the House of Potter,

Lord Ragnok will agree to sign off on the ascension of Harry James Potter, Heir Apparent to the House of Potter, to any and all other Lordships he maintains apparent claim over at the time of Harry James Potter's 17th birthday,

Harry James Potter will forfeit the rights of any of the Eldritch Lordships he may claim over the Gringotts Clan according to the Eldritch - Goblin Treaty of Recrimination of the year 1120,

Harry James Potter will forfeit the right to apply for exemption the previous clause until his full magical ascension upon his 25th birthday,

Harry James Potter will not pursue claims to Magical Houses in which he does not have an apparent claim until his 25th birthday,

Harry James Potter will not use his Magical Lordships to, in any form or method, take action against the Gringotts Clan until his 25th birthday,

The Gringotts Clan will follow directions given by Harry James Potter in the usage by the Gringotts Bank of the operations of Magical Houses Harry James Potter is the apparent heir of,

Monetary:

Harry James Potter will transfer the ownership of the Potter House Vault [182 – PH] to the Sovereign Vault of the Gringotts Clan,

Harry James Potter will forfeit the rights to the Potter House Vaults [256 – PH], [329 – PH], and [81 – PH] until his 17th birthday,

The Gringotts Bank will not access or in any other way manipulate or change the contents of the Potter House Vaults [256 – PH], [329 – PH], and [81 – PH],

Harry James Potter will reserve the right to withdraw 250 Gallons per month from the Potter House Vault [11 – PH] and convert it into Mundane money,

The Potter House Vault [11 – PH] will be refilled from other Potter Vaults as needed to maintain Harry James Potter's ability to withdraw by month,

The Gringotts Bank will not take or seize any artefacts or other vault contents from the House of Potter that are not moneys,

The Gringotts Bank will not take or seize any artefacts, moneys, or other contents from any vault having an apparent claim by Harry James Potter until his 25th birthday

Gringotts Bank Operations:

The Gringotts Bank will complete the process of creating an alternative identity for Harry James Potter to be used mutually in the Mundane and Magical World,

Pursuant to the change of identity of Harry James Potter, the name will be stripped from the records of the Gringotts Bank,

The Gringotts Bank will not release any information of the status or other of Harry James Potter expect at the expressed permission and/or direction of Harry James Potter

Harry James Potter and the Gringotts Clan will not to release the contents or any information regarding the existence of this contract or any other contract between the two parties,

Gringotts Bank Operations:

Harry James Potter will hereby revoke his citizenship of Magical Great Britain and will not apply for renewed citizenship until his 25th birthday,

Harry James Potter will forfeit his rights as a citizen of Magical Great Britain and all according laws concerning the Gringotts Clan for citizens,

Harry James Potter: _ Lord Ragnok: _

Ragnok had already signed on the signature lines at the bottom, he saw. Looking up at Argott once more, he was unconcerned with the scary grin he still wore on his face.

Keeping his own fear and uncertainty covered up with his lid of occlumency, he held out his hand for a pen. Argott dutifully provided one but a second later from one of the pockets in his business jacket.

It was an A. T. Cross black fountain pen, quite a beautiful one at that.

Brandishing it with a light grip, Harry put his pen to the paper and wrote out his name in his classic signature.

When he was done, he handed the parchment back to Argott. The goblin looked over everything to make sure all was in order before placing the parchment back in his briefcase and shutting it close.

"How much is this pen worth by the way, Argott?" he asked while twirling the magnificent item in his hand.

With a small smirk, Argott observed the young wizard admiring the pen intently.

"No cost to it."

Harry looked up from it to pose a curious expression to the goblin. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a further explanation. Argott had a tendency to like revealing interesting facts in this kind of way. Of course, the old goblin couldn't resist.

"You should take a closer look at the engravings on the back, Mr. Potter. It is that which is the real worth."

Turning the pen around to properly see the back of it, he did sure enough see the deep engraving. The twirling lines, the powerful and authoritarian looking structure of it, the obvious gold nature of the engraved lines, and the way those two triangles came together to form . . .

"The House of Gringotts?" Harry questioned, looking up from the pen to the goblin with a look of understand.

Argott gave but a small nod, but it said everything that Harry wanted to know. He now looked at the pen with a kind of reverence that was normally reserved for very few items. This however, was truly special.

Meanwhile, his mind was running every algorithm in an attempt to determine the significance of this matter. One might think that signing a Gringotts contract with a pen engraved with their seal was standard practice, but that would be far off. This was practically unheard of. Unheard of!

The goblins were very prideful creatures. They were staunchly nationalist, and if one was the use the bluntest of term, racist against all other races in the word. Humans were their current competitors. Dwarves were deadly rivals. Trolls and the Orks of the old were blood enemies. In fact, the goblin race had fought wars against every single other race in the world. Every one! Even the Merrpeoples!

The use of these special Gringotts engraved pens, he knew, was one of the highest privileges any could have. They were most normally reserved for private use for the leader of the Gringotts clan. From A History of the Gringotts Clan by Graham Davis, he knew that the last publicly recorded use of these pens was during the Goblin – Human Hogsmead Peace Accords of 1861 in Great Britain. Even then, there was said to be a near civil war in the goblin ranks just over the use of the pens by the then Acting British Minister of Magic Ralston Potter.

He hadn't ever even seen a picture of one of these beauties in any of the books he had read through. These were, and he wanted to stress this, incredibly precious and secretively guarded by the goblin nation. Nobody in Magical Great Britain, and he assumed Gringotts itself, knew just how many of these pens there were in existence. To give a bit of understanding, these pens were seen by the goblins as a part of the Gringotts Clan itself. Every goblin felt some degree of ownership over them, even if they were only used by the chairman.

His fingers tingled with excitement as he twirled it around in his fingers, examining it as if it was the Philosopher's Stone itself. Argott was still looking at him intently, judging his every muscle flex and reaction to the realization.

With a slight turn of his head, Harry reached out with his magic. He was sure that these Gringotts pens must have some incredible magic harnessed inside of them.

Slowly, his magic reacted with the various ones in the pen and identified them one by one. There were contractual recognition magics, normal. Blood identification and matching magics, normal. Reforming ink magics, again, normal. However, this was where Harry came up against some magics that he definitely hadn't seen before. Something shimmering underneath the others. Bubbling and constantly shifting. Ever-changing and morphing with every magical wave. This was most certainly not normal.

With a deep frown, Harry looked up at the old goblin.

"Is it . . . is it . . .

\- Is it what Mr. Potter?" Argott questioned, a very knowing look on his face.

"Is it alive?" Harry blurted out. Only after a second of the goblin not responding did he realize how stupid and unprofessional that had sounded. It was not his business to be asking questions about Gringotts artifacts, especially one as rare and important as this.

It was incredible enough he had gotten to see one in the flesh, let alone hold it and use it. Goblins were very easily insulted and put off, by humans even easier. He sincerely hoped his out of place curiosity would not ruin the wonderful, comparing to standards, working relationship he had with Argott.

Yet, his fears were soothed when the goblin's grin simply widened, showing his clear amusement.

"Why indeed it is Mr. Potter."

Harry looked at him blankly for a while. Inside though, his mind was racing.

Alive! What could that mean! He had seen magic that replicated human and living qualities. He had seen magic that appeared to be alive and even pretend like it was. Everything that he had seen with his minimal magic examination what so far confirmed to some degree what Argott had implied. The way it was constantly morphing, moving around, and that wasn't even all! It had sensed him, and had reacted in a way. His magic had told him it had become almost defensive, protective. He had never seen any other magic like this before.

This was simply unreal. If he could possibly have a chance to study it . . . no that wouldn't ever be in the realm of reality, he thought with a downcast mood. Perhaps Ragnok had allowed him to hold this item of magnificence in his hand for a minute, but releasing it to him for more than an hour would never happen, ever. Even if Ragnok did, Harry doubted he would be Chairman of the Clan or even alive by the next day. The goblins would never allow it.

Sure enough, Argott extended his hand towards Harry, a clear confirmation of Harry's thoughts. With a steady rip, he handed the pen back to the goblin. Argott wrapped his long fingers around it and his magic seemed to connect with the artefact's for a second before he placed it back into his suit pocket.

At this moment a normal pair of mundane businessmen would shake hands. This was not the case with goblins. Diverting his deep gaze from Harry out into the park, Argott buttoned up his suit jacket. Running his long finger along the side of the suitcase, Harry felt the numerous wards that had surrounded them fall apart, exposing them to the public eye once more.

With a small exhale of breath, he stood up and gave Harry a bow, dipping his head by only a few degrees of angle. Harry repeated the measure, seated, and watched as Argott walked off into the distance.

Once the goblin had disappeared past where Harry could see them, he turned his attention back to the family he was looking at earlier. The five were still there, surrounding the great tree with their picnic. They were packing up now, probably getting ready to leave.

His mind and thoughts wrapped in his powerful occlumency covers, he sat there. He was completely still. He watched them intently, not caring if they noticed his odd behavior or not. He was not sure how long he stayed and watched, but by the time he had come back to hos proper senses, they had left, taking their picnic and the carpet with them.

Still he sat there, pondering the magnetic ramifications of the contract he had just signed. He was no longer a citizen of Magical Great Britain. He was free. Completely and totally free.

They wouldn't be able to hold him. They wouldn't be able to imprison him. They wouldn't be able to force him to go back to Hogwarts. Finally . . . finally . . . finally free!

He could do what he wanted now. There was nobody with a wand behind his back, making his decision and movements for him. There was nobody holding a magical law over his head, forcing to act the way they wanted and comply with the things they wanted him to.

No more of being Boy-Who-Lived! He was Harry!

Well, soon enough, he would have a new identity. He guessed that would be the final act of turning his back of the magical world and moving world.

Who were they kidding? A Potter? In blood only. He was not raised a Potter. He had initially been very excited to regain his true name in a cultural sense when he entered the magical world two years ago. As he found out what the name actually meant though, it had felt like just another betrayal on top of all of the others.

Sure, he would use the money and the power of the name. He would take full advantage of all the opportunities and powers in would bring. But he would not stand to let it be his last name!

The Potters had been just as elitist, racist, and horrid and as the other pureblood supremacists. Apart from his grandfather Charlus Potter and his Great-Great-Grandfather Jackson Potter who he had come to respect and admire, the others he couldn't stand to be related to.

He had wondered for a while if Charlus and Jackson would have been disappointed in him for abandoning the Potter name. He had found that, in the end, it did not matter to him. He would never know the answer. If they did, they would be therefore just as disgraceful as the others, and so to Harry he was fine with never knowing. Hopefully, he thought, they would be accepting of his decision.

The Potter name was not something he could wear on his sleeve and feel comfortable with himself. So he would forsake it. Forsake it to die in flames like the rest of Magical Great Britain would. Yet he would have no further business with it.

Magical Britain would burn, but not by his hand. He did not know when it would burn, or who would be responsible for it, but it would burn. And when it did, he would be there. He would be there, leaning back on a chair. He would be there, while the reflections of the flames danced in his eyes and his lips spread in a wide smile of fulfillment.

His mind was lost, but his facial expressions were not. Slowly, still looking out into the horizon, his lips twitched ever so slightly into that oh so magnificent grin. If anyone looked into his normally beautiful green eyes, they might see the flickers of red and yellow.

11:42 am

French Ministry of Magic – Bureau des Opérations Internes Magique

St. Germain-en-Laye; France

Exuding an air of power, Alexandre Dumas moved as quickly as he could in his tight pants so that he wouldn't trip over his own feet. Around him, the quiet career officials who made up the surveillance bureau stopped to stare at their director bolting through doors and down the corridors. Dumas didn't often come down to this specific bureau, preferring to publicly distance himself as much as possible from the unit's sometimes shady dealings.

Public attention was also the reason he was here, and not where he probably should be, in the Departement d'Immigration Magique, the Magical Immigration Department. However, Alexandre was a man whom many people would gladly trade information on, both allies and enemies. In many ways, his allies were the ones he had to watch out for the most, Albus Dumbledore being a prime example of this. Sure, he was completely dedicated to the cause of the light, personally he thought far more than Albus had ever been, but many of his allies saw him as a thorn as he saw them the exact same way. His enemies, they weren't his main concern. He knew who they were. For the most part, he knew where they were.

His allies throughout the government would be the ones to pounce on him if he were seen making a surprise trip down to the Immigration Department. Sure, he did so quite regularly, but he had just visited yesterday for his usual inspection tour. No matter what he said, others would find out who he was looking for in the records. Rafael Durand, he was sure, would be all too eager to "look into" the mater. Durand, if you were interested was the Inspecteur General of the French Ministry, or General Inspector. It was he who single handedly had to power to open and close investigations into actions by the executive departments. Well, he had to deal with that man's presence. He knew he should never have crossed Flamel anyone, and he had indeed paid for it with Durand.

Never mind that. To recap, he had headed down some three dozen flights of stairs to the catacombs of the government bureaucracy to get the information he needed without it leaking it out. If there was one thing he agreed on with Albus, it was that leaks were just the fucking worst.

Passing by the wards in the entrance room to the secret records room, the defenses recognized his magical signature and allowed him access. Placing his hand on the magical scanner on the door and waiting as it confirmed his identity, he opened the door and moved inside. He then quickly shot the door behind him.

It was a small room, with grey metal walls, and no windows or other sources of entry other than the one door. There were two magical lights that hung on a platform from the roof, allowing anyone plenty of lighting for whatever activates they had. In the middle of the room was a simply metal table with a clean white surface. Standing up right in front of the table, Dumas spoke in loud clear French: "Access to the Special Surveillance Records".

He waited for just a second before the voice of a French women came from the room: "Access granted Mr. Dumas,". Immediately, the white surface on the table was filled with names, locations, status reports, health notices. A small smile kept onto his face as he observed the device. It was this weapon here, far more powerful than any wand or individual magic, that kept order in France. It was this weapon that was the bane of every criminal and magical anarchist in France. It was this weapon that was his power, and it would come quite in handy right now.

Moving his hand over the table, he scrolled down the lists through the air and going through the different subcategories. Speaking the boy's name out loud, the table surface flashed red before leaving just one line of status reports. The location, he noticed with a frown on his face, was switching almost as fast as he could read it.

Centre-Val de la Loire, Bas-Rhin, Essone, Tarn-et-Garonne, Vaucluse, Cantal . . . What was going on?

Then he took a look at the magical status and opened up a full report. The smile on his face grew and grew and grew. Oh my, he thought. It was really too much. Failing to hold it in, he let out a full belly laugh in the privacy of the small room. Oh, if only his colleagues saw him acting lime this right now. Oh my! Oh my! He raised his arm to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes. Seriously, this was the most hilarious thing that he had seen in at least a year.

Various Locations; France

In the middle la Rue des Lumieres, the Magique in the air contorted just slightly in the middle of the road. Any mage with an acute knowledge of temporal magic and the intricacies of magical transportation would be able to detect the apparition of a magical being in the area. However, they would find no visible apparition, for the being was under near impenetrable concealment and unnoticeable magics known only to his race.

Furthermore, in the middle of this busy day, no mage would go out of their way to investigate the odd occurrence. Both for this reason and the fact that not a second later the being would apparate away, people continued on their way as if nothing had happened. The average magical, unable to recognize the magical signs of the transportation, would have no knowledge. Those who did would assume it to be one of the dozens of apparations to and from the popular shopping district every minute.

None would realize or put together that this same unnoticed being was apparating all over France. This was not contained to just the magical world. The same being, if one looked very carefully, was popping in and out of all sorts of random destinations in both the mundane and magical world.

So this being continued on its task. Apparating here. Apparating there. To the west, to the east, the north, to the south.

The being was enjoying its current task immensely. He didn't believe he had ever gotten out into the world so much. For any rational person, they would find having to apparate around a country non-stop to be a devastatingly exhausting and crushing job to do. For a being that never got tired and whose energy was filled by serving his master, this was just plainly FUN!

He could feel the cool French breeze running through his long flappy ears and his apparations took him to so many new exciting places. He was gripping the large wooden wand in his right hand as hard as he could for fear of it falling out. As he was apparating all over the place, he needed to make sure he didn't let it just fly out in his haste to leave as quickly as he could. He was so tempted every time and explore all the beautiful area, but he very specific instructions planned out by his master.

Of course he remembered the orders perfectly clear. His master had said to: "Apparate at fast paste to random locations around the country of France with my wand and do not stop until I give the order,". Well, those instructions were pretty easy, and he was strongly determined to carry them out perfectly. So he went, apparating to the obscenest and rural area before bouncing back into city centers and restaurant bathrooms.

Continuing to pop in and out of the most random locations around the country, Dobby the house elf had a huge silly grin on his face.

Daily Prophet

Front Page

MINISTRY MANHUNT FOR SIRIUS BLACK  
by Anderson Cambers, Senior Ministry Affairs Correspondent

All across Magical Great Britain, the Ministry of Magic is searching up and down for the escaped prisoner Sirius Black.

Black, age 34, has been an inmate of Azkaban prison for 13 years since his imprisonment on November 2nd, 1980. However, he was able to escape from the vaunted prison on July 19th. He is the first know wizard on record to accomplish such a feat.

Black, a well-known criminal, was a Death Eater and loyal soldier of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the First Wizarding War. He was found specifically to have taken part in the plot to kill the Potter Family and murdered 13 muggles two days after.

Black was, of course, a good friend of the Potter Lord, James Potter, and his wife, Lily Potter, before betraying them to his dark lord. His actions led to their tragic deaths and the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by the Boy-Who-Lived.

Magical citizens are warned that if they see Sirius Black or are attacked by him, they are to flee immediately and contact the Auror office.

Chief Auror Rufus Scrimgeour has said that the Auror Office is conducting a nationwide search for Black. They have deployed more than 80 Auror's to take part in the search. The Hit-Wizard force had so far not participated in hint, but stand ready to act upon the direction of the Wizengamot.

Bartimus Crouch, the head of the Ministry's Department of International Cooperation, released a statement to the press this morning saying: "Foreign travelers in Magical Great Britain are not at risk at this moment. Our magical security forces are active across the nation to ensure all magicals, whether they be British or other, will be well protected from the dark wizard."

He went on to explain that even an insane wizard such as Sirius Black would not dare to attack the civilian population due to the security presence. Mr. Crouch will be meeting with the French Minister for Magic, Antoine de Lafayette, tomorrow to discuss joint security measures to be taken in light of Sirius Black's escape.

In conjunction to the manhunt, there is a tense discussion in the Wizengamot over the use of the Azkaban dementors in the search. The dementors, the magical creatures that guard the Azkaban prison, cause severe depression on a wide area and can suck out people's souls by kissing them. Dementors are highly dangerous creatures, the reason they are kept at Azkaban on a permanent basis.

This morning, Minister Fudge came before the Wizengamot with a request for the body to vote on a Ministerial Order to use the dementors to find Black. This is an unprecedented order because the dementors of Azkaban have not been formally allowed by the Ministry off of the island since the 19th century.

The Wizengamot would need a simple majority to either approve or defeat the Ministerial Order. The discussions today that raged in the Wizengamot chambers were described by some as "confrontational" and "near-violent".

Lord Lucius Malfoy, the leader of the right sided Cavalier Party, spoke supportively on the matter, saying: "The Ministry has a fundamental obligation to protect its citizens. It would be foolish and cowardly for us not to use such an effective weapon as the dementors to find and capture Sirius Black!" Lord Lysander Yaxley of the Conservative Party, Lord Izar Nott of the Traditionalist Party, and Lord Russell Macmillan of the Nationalist Party have all come out in support of the order.

The opposition, however, is growing and it's rebukes threaten to overturn the order. Lord Tiberius Odgen of the Progressive Party has been one of it's harshest critics, claiming that: "This order is a bastardization of both standard Ministry policy and magical rights. Any lord and warlock who can stand by this should be ashamed of themselves for wanting to further endanger all of Magical Great Britain in this time of crisis!" He is joined in his opposition by Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore of the "Light" Party, Lady Amelia Bones of the Liberal Party, Lord Castor Greengrass of the Social Unity Party, and his own party leader Lady Augusta Longbottom.

The influential Lords Julius Morrigan, Marius Loxley, and Algernon Croaker have not strongly endorsed or opposed the order. These three lords are going to be the deciding votes in the Wizengamot vote on the order next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Hello again!
> 
> Just to start off I had a lot of fun writing the last part with Dobby. I was literally laughing the entire time I was typing it up.
> 
> I tried to express earlier in the chapter the deep seated emotional trauma that Harry is left with as a result of his childhood with the Dursleys. For me, it fells wrong that in many fanfictions Harry can be super powerful and all mentally.
> 
> The way I understood the character, what he went through in his childhood was close to near constant torture, whether it be physical, mental, or emotional. Nobody, not even a wizard, can leave that without permanent consequences. So, yes, Harry is indeed mentally unstable.
> 
> This was partially hinted in the end of that section of the chapter as Harry imagines the burning of Magical Great Britain. This will be the beginning of a long journey for Harry.
> 
> On a structural note I will be including newspaper articles in most chapters. These articles won't always come from the Daily Prophet. They'll be some from other magical newspapers and a fair few from mundane ones.
> 
> Also, I am looking for a Beta writer to help me with this story. I am fine with writing all the content and posting on my own time but I believe that readers would appreciate it more if there was both more frequent posting and maybe better writing of some parts.
> 
> If you're interested, please PM me and I'll see about allowing you to help out. Thank you for anyone who takes me up on the offer.
> 
> Finally, I try to revise my chapters as well as I can but I will be ready to admit I am not the best at this and frequently notice I miss spelling mistakes. Please let me know if you see any and I will try to correct them as soon as I can.
> 
> Again, if you have any questions, feel free to ask away. Thanks for viewing, favoring, following, and reviewing. This has probably been said hundreds of times by authors but it truly does inspire us to write more.
> 
> See you next time,
> 
> Greysider

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Hello all! Welcome to my first Harry Potter story!
> 
> This is going to be a long story that deals with many elements of the Harry Potter magical world and the mundane (normal) one. There will be a fairly equal amount of attention on both worlds, so expect to see many events of the book series but also many different ones.
> 
> As you can no doubt tell, this story will be deviating quite significantly from the cannon plot.
> 
> There will be a whole host of new characters in this story, both magical and mundane. These include simple people who are just bystanders to the actions, key characters who interact with Harry Potter, government officials, enemies, and many more. I will make sure to properly introduce and build up these characters in a way respective importance to the story.
> 
> Another element of this story you will no doubt have guessed will be important is politics. This is in fact probably the biggest or second biggest element of the story in fact. I understand that many are bored reading political discussions and actions, but they are very important and make up the core of "A New World.
> 
> I will say that when I was younger, I really enjoyed the Harry Potter books and loved the idea of a world of magic hidden away. Now, however, I see the series as a cruel story detailing the seemingly normal abuse, manipulation, and torture both mentally and physically of its main character. This is a story based on the premise that Harry realized what was actually going on, and decided that he would not stand by and watch it happen to him.
> 
> I look forwards to working on this more, and will be adding new chapters as fast as I can. I can't make promises on an exact schedule, because I unfortunately have a perfectionist streak that prevents me from posting anything unless I think it's spotless.
> 
> Please also note that I will be frequently updating chapters and content that has already been posted. If some part of the story doesn't seem to make sense, you might want to revisit past chapters to check for any updates.
> 
> Any positive and/or constructive reviews are much appreciated. Please follow and favorite if you like this introduction.
> 
> If you have any questions, they will be answered to you directly and also at the bottom of future chapters. Any content that you feel needs further explanation will also be put in the bottom of further chapters.
> 
> Finally, I will be putting a link up on this chapter soon to a website that will contain descriptions and additional information on all the characters in this story as well as other story elements.
> 
> Thanks and see you next time,
> 
> Greysider


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